Broken As We Are
by fiesa
Summary: Hänsel and Gretel Witch Hunters. Ben accepts with grace. Gretel knows it is something she cannot have and Hänsel does not really care, and besides, they are all so twisted it does not really matter anymore anyway. OneShot.


**Broken As We Are**

_Summary: Hänsel and Gretel Witch Hunters. Ben accepts with grace. Gretel knows it is something she cannot have and Hänsel does not really care, and besides, they are all so twisted it does not really matter anymore anyway. __OneShot. _

_Warning: Might contain hints of Gretel/Hänsel. If you blink. I just thought I'd say it. Because I tried to keep it low: but interpretation runs high, I know that._

_Set: Spoilers for the movie. _

_Disclaimer: Standards apply. _

* * *

_It is always the second in between that makes him freeze in fear. _

_The second between realization and intuition; between victory and defeat. The one minute they are fighting for their lives and adrenaline curses through his system so strongly he feels like everything else around him is moving in slow-motion. The next he;s staring down at the severed head or smashed body or whatever is left of their target and wearily searches for any indications that the witch might still be alive. And then he thinks of his sister and the world comes to a screeching halt. It's not that he has forgotten her but rather that she is a part of him so inherently that sometimes he forgets they are two separate people; and he cannot breathe until he has localized her, has made sure she's still there. He needs to know she's still alive. It's not that he doesn't know she can take care of herself, or that he thinks she is weak. Because she can, and she isn't, and if there is any woman in the world he would trust to fight by his side – want by his side – it is her. But he also knows there are things they cannot control, things like surprises and mistakes. Dangerous things. And nothing – not hell nor high water – scares him more than the thought of turning around to tell her they have another successful kill on their list and to find she is not there anymore. _

_…_

He accepts her further refusal with good grace, the acceptance in his face making him seem older than the chubby lines of his face and the naivety in his eyes had him appear.

"It is fine," Ben tells Gretel and takes her hand. When he catches her staring down at their entwined fingers, he lets her go again, slowly but determined, and he does not blush. Instead, he smiles, and Gretel thinks he is too good for this world, too good for _her_. Why did he decide to follow them, anyway? Nothing but witches and death await him here. But that is Ben for you: open and honest, ready to fight at any time, ready to die because he believes in their cause. More: ready to die because he believes in _them_, and once again Gretel looks at the man and feels like a murderer. Heartless, cold, the same way she accepted him and then pushed him away again. She can blame all she like, blame adrenaline and loneliness, alcohol and exhilaration and it won't change the fact that she took him into her bed willingly and now is banning him from it again without any explanation.

"Actually, it felt strange," Ben continues and now his youth shows in the way he scratches the back of his head nervously. "You know what I mean. I mean, I have been waiting for such a long time, eagerly collecting every piece of information that was there on you and your brother. You were – you _are – _my heroes. I don't know – it doesn't add up, somehow."

It is the truth. From the beginning on he has seen her as Gretel the Witch Hunter, Gretel the Celebrity. He adores her so strongly anything else is impossible, any other emotion, because adoration does nothing to soften loneliness. Every single touch of his, every caress, every kiss is hero worship in raw form, his wonder at being with her displayed for the entire world to see in the way he follows her with his eyes, listens to every word of hers. It is not what she wants, not what she needs, either. There are many people – men, mostly – who desire her, and many others who hate her. She does not care because desire and hate are close siblings. Though not as close as Hänsel and her. Ben and Hänsel get along better than she thought they would, Hänsel seemingly having accepted the younger man as some odd sort of family member. He teaches grudgingly, orders and scolds, but there is a softness in his eyes Gretel cannot deny. Something – _someone_ – added softness to his features where it never had been before and she still cannot decide whether to hate Mina for it or be thankful. It now is open for the world to see. And perhaps she is only jealous, but she wants to hide it away again, wants to keep it veiled for her only to look at it. Because she is greedy like that.

"Thank you," Gretel says because there is nothing better to say. Ben smiles at her. It is the wide, effortless smile he showed her the first day, in a nondescript tavern in Augsburg, when he presented his treasure. He smiled again when she woke up in his room and almost broke his wrist, and again when Hänsel told him he was allowed to follow them. He's a boy, she thinks, but then he has proven that he is a man now and a full-fledged Hunter already. He's even grown, both in height as in stature, his once-lanky arms and legs now seem as if they really are a part of him he has under control. He's gained muscle, as well; Gretel can appreciate his well-defined shoulders and his dark blond hair. Ben's smile always seems boyish, but there is a hint of roguishness in it that reminds her of Hänsel. But, no matter where and when, Hänsel's smile never was as light as Ben's, and she does not know whether to cry or to rage. It is a burden, a life, all the more so because she is responsible for it. She tamed it. And now she watches her brother and compares it to her almost-and-not-anymore-lover, and thinks she would rather have it the other way round only the thought is too terrible, too blasphemous, to continue it further. It still hurts, and she has no idea what to do against the scorching pain.

She hunts witches, instead.

…

_It is never the same and yet it is. _

_The witch screams, a sound that makes his ears ring and his already frantic heart pace explode. Hänsel's right behind him, his gun already aimed at their target. Gretel's on the ground but already scrambling up again and in the second between life and death Ben notices the fallen leaves in her hair. Red and gold and green, a crown to contrast her brown curls. There is blood on her lip where she must have bitten herself when she fell and a smear of dirt across her nose but her eyes are on fire as she throws herself forward. Ben always thought she was beautiful and he still thinks it. It's good to see her alive, especially since it will be the last thing he sees… "Drop!" Hänsel explodes and Ben's body reacts instinctively: he drops to the ground, his entire body hitting earth and roots and dust so hard he feels the impact in his spine. He keeps his chin up and his arms at his sides, absorbing the impact as he was taught, and then, in one fluent movement, rolls to the side and jerks up his feet. The witch, charging at him wildly, runs directly into them and is thrown against Gretel who grabs her and twists her around, smashes her to the forest floor with a strength that seems inhuman if one does not know the training that has been put into it. And because they are siblings and because either of them can read the other's thoughts it is Hänsel who is waiting for her when the witch tries to scramble away, Hänsel who calmly pounds her into the ground a second time and extends his right hand as if waiting for something. The wickedly sharp knife Gretel always carries lands right in his hand as if she had handed it to him, not thrown, and the head of the witch drops to the ground. Kill. Seventeen to three for the good ones, Ben thinks and scrambles up. "Good job," he tells the siblings. Neither of them smiles, but Hänsel nods shortly and Gretel frowns and pats his shoulder and treats his injury when he flinches. Later that day Hänsel hands him the bag that contains the rotting remains of the witches' head and Ben knows it is their way of treating him with respect. The rich merchant pays him handsomely and he puts the rest of the coins into the pouch Hänsel carries. And, at night, when he listens to Edward's deep snores and Hänsel's soft breathing and sees Gretel's silhouette keeping watch against the clear window of their shared room, he knows he is where he wants to be. And he does not need more, at least not now._

…

"So you're not in there," Hänsel says and takes a deep swig from his beer jug. Ben rubs his head and sits down before his hesitation becomes too obvious.

"Obviously not."

Sometimes he does not know how to talk to this man, who is so calm and so driven at the same time. When Ben still lived in Augsburg – when he was young and naïve and never saw a witch for his dear life – he always imagined Hänsel to be charismatic, cool and composed. He finds he was right – there is a definite _cool_ part to his character. But sometimes it seems rather cold than cool. He is composed alright – but in a way that makes Ben shiver, and if he ever was charismatic the only thing that remains now is his irony and sarcasm. Oh, not to misunderstand, Ben admires the elder witch hunter a lot. Hänsel is strong, determined and has a goal, everything Ben wanted to have and wanted to be before he met the siblings. And while he does like Hänsel – he is fun being around, he takes care of him, teaches him stuff and all – he isn't sure he'd like him had they met under different circumstances.

"She done with you?"

There. The man's blunt honesty is one of those things, and Ben can't help the heat that rushes to his face. He tries to ignore the fact that his ears are glowing and focuses on Hänsel. _Don't let them see they got you._ People say a lot about Ben, but he always was a good student and his teacher is the best there is.

"I'm done with _her_."

At that, Hänsel throws his head back and guffaws. Ben waits patiently.

"Boy," Hänsel says and takes another swig of his beer. "I don't know whether you are especially brave or especially stupid."

Relaxing somewhat, Ben leans back.

"Either way," the elder man continued, "It's not my business. I just hope for your sake-" And here, his voice takes on a slightly threatening tone – "You haven't done anything stupid."

_Care to elaborate?_ There are a million stupid things Ben has done in his – actually quite short – life so far, of which one of them and perhaps the most stupid of all was his rash decision to follow the witch hunter siblings. Yes, he had fought and had brought down Muriel with the gun Hänsel had given him – but actually he wasn't so sure he would still be there had there not been an extreme amount of sheer luck involved. They'd caught a fair number of witches so far – _caught_ meaning _killed_ – and Ben was getting the hang of it. It was easy, really, because witches did not look like human beings. Anything else and he probably would already have been on his way back when, on the second day of his decision to follow them, he had used an iron club to bash in a witches head. The result had been a rather unsavory one but except for him nobody had seemed to notice. It wasn't the definite disadvantages his action had on his outer appearance but the fact that the _thing_ moaned and came at him, her brain scattered all over him, and tried to throttle him until Hänsel mercifully stepped in and chucked her head off. Then, there was the incident when he had been told to wait with Edward, and he had followed the siblings into the night and had almost been killed by a band of muggers – embarrassing, to say the least, especially since Gretel came to his rescue. Oh, and then he had given in to Gretel's advances, which was stupid in the first place especially since he was pretty sure she hadn't wanted him in the first place. _Stupid. _So he wasn't only a kid among adults and a civilian among hunters but a distraction, as well, both during fights and for Gretel. _(So he had woken to a voice offering him everything he wished for and he had accepted gladly, and besides, they had saved his neck many times before and it was only fine if he returned something, at least. It still didn't mean he had to like it.) _And now Hänsel was looking at him with eyes like daggers, glares extraordinaire, and Gretel had broken things off with him, and Ben felt like a leaf in the storm but without the emotional baggage. He glared back and even if he was pretty sure he didn't yet have Hänsel's glare perfected he knew his eyes said _I dare you_, and it was the only thing he wanted.

"Hmpf." Finally, Hänsel lowered his eyes, his forehead creased in thought. "It's better that way. She doesn't need distraction."

"The kind of distraction Mina was to you?" Ben's not stupid, but right now he thinks he never said anything remotely as idiotic as this sentence. _Just see it as a part of your training._ Hänsel, though, only looks thoughtful.

"It was just one night. And, besides…"

"I don't care," Benjamin interrupts him. "What I want to say is the following: Don't _judge_ me, Hunter. Your sister makes her own decisions, and I make mine. You, of all, do not have the right to judge whom I bed and how long, even if it is her."

Hänsel suddenly looks murderous. People might say it's the amount of alcohol he has imbibed this evening but Ben knows him enough to know more than that's necessary to push him over the edge. "Gretel's my sister."

"So what claim exactly do you have on her?" He shoots back. And, for some reason, it's a good feeling to see the flash of undefined hurt/anger/fear in Hänsel's eyes. Of course he will feel bad for it in a few seconds – there. He feels bad. Ben sighs. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm tired, that's all."

Hänsel recognizes an obvious change of topic when he sees one. He recognizes reason, too, it's one of the things Ben admires in him. Strange how a man can be so pleasant and so disagreeable at the same time, so polite and yet so rude. The man's a conundrum, exactly like his sister only with Gretel, Ben can deal though he has no idea why. She's not softer than Hänsel but perhaps she is easier to talk to and thus easier to understand. Or not. He isn't completely sure.

"You should be. You fought well today."

A rare treat. Ben puffs out his chest and feels his ears glow again but hopefully Hänsel doesn't see it in the dim light of the candles and lanterns that illuminate the pub. The hunt today wasn't one of the most dangerous ones otherwise the siblings wouldn't have let him do as much as he did. Still, the witch of Porta Westfalica is dead. It's what counts. Ben leans back and tries to stretch his arms and shoulders without Hänsel noticing, and thinks it damn _hurts _but the pain is better than many other things he knows.

…

_The times come when she forgets how she came to be in this place. _

_It's a fact that neither she nor her brother talks about the past. They have left it behind, shed it like a piece of clothing that has become too small or too faded or simply too worn-out to be used further, and on most days it is fine with her. On most days she follows Hänsel through hell and back, guards his back when he takes on judges and majors and, occasionally, priests, makes sure he sleeps and eats and tries not to worry too much about his illness. On other days she has to close her eyes because he is too close, because there is a hint of desperation in his smile and the ghost of a longing in his eyes. On most nights she sleeps soundly as soon as she hears his silent breathing in the darkness because knowing that he is there is everything she needs. On other nights she lays awake, listening, always listening, and she aches for something she cannot define. If it only wasn't so close, so desperately out-of-reach, perhaps she could learn to live with it. As it is, it taunts her daily, when she sees him return from a shopping trip, when she listens to him making their newest plans, when she watches him train with Ben and talk to majors and smile at people. Gretel's greatest fear is that he will stop smiling at her because both of them know what she is and what it means, but neither one dares to speak of it. It's the same when it comes to who they are. Sister and brother, witches and hunters, siblings and friends – there is a line between everything and Gretel isn't sure they haven't crossed it yet._

…

She's sitting on the low bunk, her hair trailing down her back openly, and the first sunrays catch the maroon color and turn it to gold and red. Gretel's beautiful, to an extent Hänsel appreciates and, at the same time, hates himself for. The early summer morning promises to be beautiful. From the next room he can hear Ben humming to himself. The tune gets louder with every refrain, soon he will be singing at the top of his voice. He doesn't really mind the boy's eccentricities – God knows they have enough of those, themselves, not the last but definitely one of them being the fact that they still share a room even though their last kill brought them enough to pay for three separate rooms. Gretel shrugged and said it was cheaper that way – and, after all, they are used to sleeping in the same room – and Hänsel didn't protest. He sleeps better when she is near and he knows why. Ben only shrugged and threw him a look that could have meant anything. Hänsel somehow suspects he doesn't really want to know what the younger man thought that second.

"There have been rumors of a witch somewhere around Cologne," he says as he gathers up a cloth and moves over to the wash bowl. It is hard, not looking at her, especially when the sun paints a golden glow onto her features and the angry, red marks of her scars are clearly visible underneath her thin shirt.

Gretel shakes her head. Her hair dances. "Cologne belongs to the Church. We shouldn't go somewhere like that. There are enough other places, enough other missions we can take. What about Assindia? We could stock up on our weapons' supply there, too."

"Might be worth a shot," Hänsel agrees and splashes water onto his face. It's cold but not cold enough to chase away the last remnants of his dream. Angrily, he glares at his mirror image in the water.

"Hey." Gretel stands as he looks up again and crosses the room in search for her corsage. "Hänsel, yesterday… I didn't tell you, but during the fight…"

She pulls it on like she is donning armor, her voice carrying an undertone he hasn't heard in her voice for a long time.

"What was it?"

"I…" She hesitates, then plunges forward. "I felt something. Some kind of power. It ran all the way through my body and through my hands and then…" Her sentence hangs in the air unfinished while she unconsciously twirls a strand of her hair between her fingers, something she only does when she is uncomfortable. Or afraid. He knows her, oh how well he knows her… Hänsel can see where she is going and yet he doesn't make a move to help her. "I think I used witchcraft," she concludes, silent and distraught.

"Are you sure?" Hänsel asks, the cloth next to the water basin forgotten even though it is a mere formality. He can feel the water running down his face but makes no move to wipe it away.

Gretel nods. "And the tree exploded."

So it _had been _her. Hänsel had wondered, even suspected, but hadn't wanted to believe.

"It could have been a stray curse from that witch."

"No." Her voice sounds so sure – and, at the same time, so vulnerable. She looks younger when she's afraid and he wants to do something to soothe her, anything, no matter what. So he balls his fists and keeps his distance. "I _saw_ it, Hänsel. I made the tree explode. It seems Muriel was right – I really am a witch. Like "

He doesn't respond. How he hates her – the woman who allegedly did everything to protect them but, in the end, wasn't even able to save herself. Mina was similar – a white witch, unable to keep herself from dying. It seems like a pattern.

"Hänsel," Gretel says carefully. He immediately knows she is up to something. Or something is up to them. "Hänsel, do you think there is a way our mother…"

"We don't talk about our mother, Gretel," he barks, reflexively, and turns his back on her abruptly. He isn't fast enough to not notice the flash of hurt in her eyes. Only then he realizes how horrible the thought is, why he is reacting as if she had asked him something unspeakable. Their mother had been a white witch and had died, and Mina had been a white witch and had died, and if fate is the tiniest bit as it always was Gretel might- she might be the next. His heart grows cold with fear. The thought of a life without his sister by his side freezes him into a mind-numbing stillness. To her, though, his words have a different effect altogether.

"Curse you!" Gretel's hand moves, quick like lightning; the washing basin goes flying. It shatters into a thousand tiny ceramic pieces. Hands balled into fists she stands in front of him, so close he can see her wide dark eyes and the anger in her features. "Curse you, Hänsel! This is not about you and our mother, or about our parents in general. This is about _us. _About you and me. Do you not understand? Goddamnit, _look at me for once, _Hänsel!"

At that he turns to her entirely, his eyes meeting hers. Dark brown and beautiful. This is why…

"I look at you," he says quietly. "I always look at you. You're the only one I see."

The silence spreads out and holds. Time stops – he feels the warmth of the sunlight on a part of his leg, and the wet droplets of water that still run down his face and his bare chest. Gretel's looking at him – her face, her hair, even the deep, red gash on the left side of her face are the most beautiful thing he ever saw before. When has he started thinking like that? They have been together for all their lives. Dimly he remembers he thought Mina attractive, with her golden hair and her beautiful body and her way of taking the first step, of her willingness to seduce him. So different to the shy retentiveness the women he knows always show. Gretel's another page entirely. So close and yet distant, beautiful and still familiar. She stands stock-still now, her mouth partly open, her lips bitten and torn from the last day's fight. Her dark eyes find his and hold and he does what he told her he was doing: he looks at her.

"I'm becoming one of them," Gretel whispers, her eyes full of nameless terror. "I'm turning into one of them."

"You are not," Hänsel tells her and lifts his hand, carefully touches her cheek. She doesn't jerk away, so he leaves it there. "You'll never be one of them. You're white, remember, a white witch. They won't turn you. And if they ever try I'll be there to make sure none of them survives the attempt."

Gretel smiles, painfully, and puts her hand on his. He catches himself wishing she never would let go.

"It scares me, Hänsel."

Hänsel thinks that anything that scares his tough-as-nails sister is really, really dangerous and should be brought under control immediately, preferably eliminated on the spot.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he tells her. "It will be fine, Gretel. I promise."

She just closes her eyes and holds his hand, and he means every word he says.

…

_They say that the one who hunts the beast for too long eventually becomes a beast himself. They can't be sure about that. Either they have been not hunting long enough or they already are beasts, creatures no better and perhaps worse than the witches they hunt. But there is a difference, there has to be. Because they are what stand between mankind and the horrors of the night, and as long as they are alive, they fight. _


End file.
